


Carrier

by benignmilitancy



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Drama, Gen, Influenza, Minor illness mention, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benignmilitancy/pseuds/benignmilitancy
Summary: She preferred working alone in times like these.
Kudos: 14





	Carrier

Butcher soldiers in the morning, set off Molotovs in the afternoon. It painted a tantalizing portrait, certainly, to hear the Administrator tell it through a series of leering broadcasts. A dangerous enterprise soaked in blood and best left unattempted. But the truth disappointed new recruits. More often than not, revolution was not necessarily built on these things. 

Contrary to popular belief, the Resistance's schedule didn't entail an unbroken parade of gunfire and explosions. The revolution Dr. Freeman brought with him marked the end of their efforts, the spark struck on the wick, igniting long-standing schemes. Until then, seasons of quiet vacillated with seasons of violence. 

One autumn gifted Black Mesa East a new influenza strain, compounding everyone's misery. And Judith was starting to feel a bit vulnerable in its midst. She remained mysteriously unaffected while, one by one, staff and board fell to migraines and wet coughing jags. 

"Eli," she said for the third time, clearing her throat. "You're shaking like a leaf." He'd risen at six this morning to tackle code corrections while Alyx set out to lead a new detachment of refugees through the canals. Now it was eight, no progress made, and he nodded over his desk, caught between waking and dreaming. "This isn't good for you. You've got to rest."

"Ah, Judith, you worry too much." He sniffled, offered her a tiny smile through drowsy, red-rimmed eyes. "I'm fine. It's not so bad."

"So you're going to wait until it grows worse?" she asked, grasping his shoulders. "Go and lie down. I'm more than capable of taking things over."

Eli stared at the screen, its cursor blinking an endless mockery, and released a long, beleaguered breath. In a rare show of concession, he gave up the ghost. "Okay, okay. But if anything catches on fire, you call me."

That had been several hours ago. Frankly, she preferred working alone in times like these. She used the time to wrangle the program into something half-viable, though bugs sprouted in the code faster than anticipated. 

She rubbed her temples, about to sip lukewarm herbal tea from a faded mug when Alyx dashed through the door. 

"I came as fast as I could. Where is he?"

So they were forgoing greetings. 

All right, then. 

"Are the refugees—"

"Yeah, they're getting settled in the common room. Where's Dad?" She whirled around, too impatient to wait for a single syllable to drop from her mouth. "Never mind, I'll go check myself."

"Alyx, wait." Judith tugged at her jacket collar. "What's this?"

She slapped a hand over the ragged scar coating the back of her neck. "Nothing," she said. "Can I go?" Judith peeled her hand away; the air deflated from her lungs. "Okay, fine: a barnacle licked me on our way out of the canals. Really gross. You happy?"

Not particularly. She pulled out a drawer, rummaged inside for the tube of topical antibiotic she kept on hand for these precise instances. "Turn around."

"Mossman, come on, I don't have time for—"

The swivel chair rolled into the desk as she stood. "Make time."

"It didn't even break the skin."

"Abrasions invite foreign pathogens all the same. Turn." 

Alyx obeyed—though not before subjecting her to a huffy _'this is crap,'_ which she ignored—and hunched her shoulders at the sensation of gel being dabbed on her nape. _"Sh—_ Cold!"

"My apologies," she said a bit flatly. Wiping her hands on a paper napkin, she offered the girl some as well. "Be certain to wash your hands once you leave. And whatever you do, don't visit your father. He's contagious."

She'd made a direct beeline to her father's room. Of course she had. Hours later, when the chef announced it time to retire to the mess hall for dinner, Judith found her curled up on the sofa beside him, moaning of stomach pains under the plaid blanket they shared. 

Alyx committed a strategic, if— _juvenile_ —decision, knowing she'd refrain from criticizing the both of them in this state. She'd insisted she'd already been feeling the beginnings of a cracked throat since the canals, making Judith bristle in hindsight, thinking about her proximity to the refugees, and decided to pull the trigger rather than prolong the inevitable. 

Fortunately for her, her father corroborated that story. A little weak, she cuddled under Eli's arm. He took the whole thing in his usual humorous stride while Judith stood immobile on the door's threshold, plastic tray balanced on her arm.

Eli stroked his daughter's hair. _She got me, too, y'know,_ he quipped in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. _Was taking a nap, and when I woke up, poof, there she was. Almost jumped a foot outta my skin._

It took steeling her every nerve not to broadcast her displeasure. To force her lips into a smile instead. As touching the scene before her was, all she saw here was work left unfinished, projects dragging behind schedule. Not to mention for those refugees in the common room, already frightened and beaten, being infected by the staff would simply pile insult on top of injury. Sore throats and profuse vomiting hardly made an ideal introduction to Black Mesa East.

Twin bowls of headcrab stew sat fuming on Eli's desk as she typed at his computer, wrestling reams of code into submission. This program at the very least had to be finished and debugged, returned to Dr. Kleiner so his teleporter would receive the electrical signal to begin transmitting matter through the entry point. Any flaw in the outgoing signal would misread the subject's subatomic imprint and tear it to pieces.

Her fingers hit the keys a little too quickly, pounding them a smidge too hard. If her efforts failed, she'd have to give Dr. Kleiner a call, provided he wasn't also incapacitated. Being cooped in his lab on the city's northernmost fringe had likely shielded him from the worst of the wave, but it was better not to assume.

Error message upon error message piled. 

Trojan horse.

Christ, she thought, not you. Not now.

Dell speakers registered a low, grainy voice. _"It's been a while, Judith. Some might say too long."_

Judith hung her head, gripped the desk. When she gathered enough mettle to meet his gaze, she plastered on a thin smile. "A pleasure hearing from you, too, Wallace." Anything but. "Are you well?"

The Administrator piqued a snowy brow. _"Shouldn't I be? This office circulates nothing but treated air."_

Judith steeled her jaw. One day that man's hubris would topple him. "You do realize lack of innoculation to this strain makes you more susceptible to the next."

He pinched his lips, chose to ignore the meaning trapped under her words. _"I'm certain your views on transmission theory are fascinating, Dr. Mossman, but right now I have loftier things to worry about than who sneezes on who. I have reason to believe Dr. Freeman will arrive soon. Perhaps a little earlier than anticipated."_

A thousand questions bubbled to the surface of her mind. When, where, how. 

She remained silent, however. Wallace relied on certain channels for information, ones she was not supposed to question—and couldn't, lest she betray her cover. 

He drummed stout fingers on his desk. _"Don't tell me you're harboring second thoughts. I can't afford half-measures."_

"No." It only took her a second or two to regain her composure, although she knew Breen had caught her momentary lapse. "Of course not. But, to remain clear—"

 _"To remain clear,"_ he said, _"it's only Eli's research we're interested in. His capture will be just for show, to cement in our benefactors' minds that we have more than sufficient means to dismantle his Resistance. He won't come to any harm, be it physical or mental."_

"And his daughter?" Pointed silence ensued on his end. "I can't guarantee she won't fight."

_"Then you'd best ascertain she knows her place before this demonstration becomes a tragedy. They are not munificent to the prey that struggle."_

The screens resumed normal operations, and Judith pressed her sleeve to her nostrils. Her nose had begun to leak.


End file.
